


Made Up

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5090282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lads have been working opposite ends of the city, and Bodie's not expecting to see Doyle when he gets home - well not quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heliophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliophile/gifts).



> A wee Prosfic for Heliophile because she made just the comment, that along with these pics, inspired it... *g*
> 
>   
> [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/byslantedlight/8284114/2720002/2720002_original.png) [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/byslantedlight/8284114/2719926/2719926_original.png)  
> 

Bodie woke, pushing himself automatically to his knees, heart pounding and eyes wide, groggy after a long week undercover and an early night, to the harsh buzz of the front door. Who the _hell_...? 

The noise stopped, and he listened for a moment, letting his breathing slow. Hardly some villain, calling up to let him know he was here. Kids? Bit late for that - nearly three in the morning, according to the gentle glow of his clock radio. No raucous laughter, no screams of...

The buzzer sounded again, someone's thumb pressed down hard and relentless. Whoever it was, he'd kill the bastard...

He pulled on yesterday's tracksuit pants, just in case it was Mandy-turned-murderous-ex after all, and stomped his way to the entryphone, not bothering with the lights in the neon-orange of the streetlamp that flooded through his nets, past the undrawn curtains. If his eyes thought it was still night, he'd get back to sleep quicker, once he'd sent whoever it was packing.

The noise ended as soon as he picked up the phone. " _What_?" 

"'s me. What took you so long? Lemme up."

"Ray..." he began, dragging it out for form's sake, but his heart leapt in treacherous joy. "Doyle, d'you know what..."

"After closing," Doyle's voice said tinnily into his ear. "Nowhere t'go but..." He faded out, as if he'd moved away from the speaker, and Bodie could practically see him swaying, one arm stretched up the wall to try and hold himself steady, jacket hooked by a finger over his other shoulder, all dishevelled shirt and past-midnight stubble.

"Nowhere to go but my place when you're pissed at three in the morning? Christ, Doyle..." But it had been over a week since he'd seen Ray last, both off on different jobs on opposite sides of the city, and... and yeah, alright, he'd missed the annoying sod. On the job, beside him in the Capri, at the pub. In his bed. Hadn't expected to see him until tomorrow, mind, but... yeah, he'd missed him.

"Not pished..." Doyle said, so much louder that Bodie pulled the phone to arm's length.

He pushed the door release, undid the locks with his other hand, and waited until he heard the first footsteps on the landing below before leaving the door ajar and heading for the kitchen to put the kettle on, still not bothering with the main lights, flicking on the dim glow of the light over the cooker instead.

He'd got as far as coffee and sugar in the mugs, milk out of the fridge, and the first hints of steam from the kettle when he heard the door close at last. There was a pause, then the soft rustle and pale thump of a coat being dropped over the back of his couch, then footsteps slapping over his bare floorboards, just a little uneven...

He turned, ready to raise a sarcastic eyebrow, and found his mouth falling open instead.

Doyle was leaning against the door jamb, and he was wearing a dress. Not even just a dress. Doyle was wearing a nurse's uniform dress, complete with white apron, a delicate white cap in his hair, and...

"Are you wearing tights?"

"'ello sailor - and that's for me to know." He sniffed slightly. "Stockings actually."

Bodie's mouth went dry. "And is that...?"

He'd swear Doyle was wearing make-up.

Bodie suddenly felt very confused inside.

He swallowed, unable to do anything but look Ray Doyle up and down.

"Been out," Doyle said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Bodie swallowed again, and licked his lips before he could speak. "That's what worries me, sunshine. What the hell...?"

"Claire's lot were having a trivia quiz - everyone had to dress up as the opposite. 'sthat coffee?" He pushed himself away from the door, the same lithe, casual grace as his Doyle, but... in a dress.

And stockings.

He stopped in front of Bodie, reached a hand to the kitchen counter beside Bodie's hip, and tilted his head to one side, all but a question. Oddly enough, close up - oh, so close up - Doyle smelled faintly of aftershave over everything else, and if Bodie had closed his eyes, if he hadn't known that everything felt different now, it could have been the same old Doyle...

"Don't think I fancy coffee," Doyle said. "Fancy something else though..."

Ridiculous to be so conscious that he was wearing nothing except a pair of tracksuit pants, when Ray Doyle was standing in front of him wearing a dress, and stockings, and... yeah, in the slightly brighter glow of the cooker light, make-up.

He was all but naked, and Doyle was wearing a dress and stockings.

Bodie leaned in, hands moving straight to smooth over Doyle's backside, over the cotton, down to the hem, and then... the nylon of stockings, the extra thickness at the top, the slight bump of suspenders... naked skin, and...

"Who the hell loaned you their knickers?" he managed, barely a breath of sound across Doyle's lips, hardly audible over the rush of blood through his veins, the wild pumping of his heart, the way all thoughts were routing themselves through his groin, through his cock so hard he didn't know how he was able to do anything except...

"Bought me own," Doyle whispered back, "Thought you might appreciate the... change." And then Doyle's hands were sliding Bodie's pants down, and Doyle's dress was pulled higher up, and Christ, but he could feel the lace edging as he shoved Doyle's knickers out of the way, just low enough that he could still feel them under Doyle's balls, could feel the silken cloth under his hands on Doyle's behind, the straps of the suspender belt, and if he turned him around and took him against the kitchen counter, that's what he'd see, Doyle in stockings and suspenders, and a pair of lace panties around the top of his thighs, dress shoved high...

He gasped into Doyle's mouth, stilled against him as he came, over Doyle's half-clothed stomach, his dress... felt Doyle thrust hard against him, the kitchen counter hard across his back, and then Doyle shuddering, and someone's moan... and then Doyle's weight against him, and soft cloth falling around his hands.

Quiet in the kitchen, but for breathing, and the tick of Bodie's clock, and somewhere, away outside, the rush of a car passing.

"So did you at least win the quiz?" Bodie asked, and he felt Doyle's smile against his own cheek, so that he turned into it, and kissed the corner of his mouth even as they pulled carefully away from each other.

"Only the booby prize," Doyle said, and his laugh was low and too pleased with himself, and Bodie felt that joy tear through him again.

He shook his head, mock unimpressed. "Warn a man next time," he said, and then he tugged unceremoniously at Doyle's lace underpants. "Come on then," he said. "Come to bed."

 

_October 2015_


End file.
